


starry eyed

by afancyghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Locker Room, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afancyghost/pseuds/afancyghost
Summary: The bodies around him launch upright, breaking out into uproarious applause and cheers. Their adoration is loud and monumental, but it is nothing compared to the growing feeling in the pit of Akaashi’s stomach. Bokuto raises his hands at the crowd, and even though they are so far away from each other, Akaashiknowsthat Bokuto sees him. Can feel the challenge in his eyes, in his posture, in his smirk.Watch me.It’s not like Akaashi ever had much of a choice.(or, Akaashi really loves to see Bokuto in his best shape)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 13
Kudos: 280
Collections: NSFW BokuAka Week 2020





	starry eyed

**Author's Note:**

> written for NSFW BokuAka Week 2020! day 5 was praise kink + toys, and I also threw in the line prompt "I like the feeling I get when I see Bokuto-san in his best shape."

Bokuto is in top form tonight. Even from the stands, that much is clear. 

The stadium is overwhelmingly hot. Akaashi only moves every so often to stand and clap with the rest of the crowd, but the temperature is reminiscent of the heat he used to feel on the court. There's a bead of sweat dripping down his spine. Pools more drip down Bokuto’s face, his arms, his neck. When he pumps his fist into the air after a particularly brutal spike, droplets spill down the inside of his arm. Akaashi is too far away, but he can already imagine the stench of him, hot and rugged and pungent. His nostrils burn with the imaginary scent on every sharp inhale.

Bokuto is up to serve. The stands shake as the crowd begins to stamp their feet, egging him on. Akaashi can feel the vibration all the way inside his skull, a movement that tightens around his heart and makes him hold his breath as Bokuto tosses the ball up into the air. His sharp eyes never leave the ball, even with all the noise and distraction and adoration in the air. He’s laser focused. Precise.

When his arm cuts through the air, Akaashi imagines he can feel the wind on his face. Imagines that he’s strong enough to create a current that can reach him all the way from there. The smack of the ball against Bokuto’s palm is meaty, heavy. A weight that Akaashi can _feel._ And when it smacks down against the opposite side of the court in the very next second, it’s like another punch to the chest.

The bodies around him launch upright, breaking out into uproarious applause and cheers. Their adoration is loud and monumental, but it is nothing compared to the growing feeling in the pit of Akaashi’s stomach. Bokuto raises his hands at the crowd, and even though they are so far away from each other, Akaashi _knows_ that Bokuto sees him. Can sense the challenge in his eyes, in his posture, in his smirk.

_Watch me._

It’s not like Akaashi ever had much of a choice.

* * *

The crash of the door hitting the wall is far too loud, and the effect is only multiplied by the echo of the locker room. Still, the only things Akaashi can hear are the rapid puffs of his breath and the slide of Bokuto’s lips against his own, fervid and rough. He barely even registers the closing of the door behind them, doesn’t even acknowledge the click of the lock. He just feels the searing heat of Bokuto’s fingertips clenching down on his hips, poking just underneath his shirt to get to bare skin.

Bokuto is an unstoppable force, a forward momentum without any drag. He pushes and pushes at Akaashi, uncaring of his bumbling and clumsy feet, because his hands are gripped so tightly around Akaashi’s waist that there’s no way he can fall. And Akaashi just lets him, just allows himself to be herded further and further into the room until Bokuto crowds him up against the lockers, so tight and overwhelmingly present that it feels like nothing in the world exists except for the cold lockers at his back, Bokuto’s sturdy chest at his front, and the hot breaths mingling between them.

With Akaashi pinned between the lockers and his chest, trapped like an animal in a corner, Bokuto finally releases his hips. Instead, he brings his hands to cup Akaashi’s cheeks, holding him in place as he delves deeper into his mouth. Akaashi is helpless against the onslaught, his hands weak against Bokuto’s shoulders as he tries to keep up with him, all of his breath being sucked out of him until only Bokuto’s scent, hot and sweaty and victorious, fills his lungs.

And Akaashi can smell it, that victory clinging to him. Can feel it in the heat of his palms, still warm and red from striking the ball so often, so well. Tastes it in the sweat on his lips. Clenches it in his greedy hands, his fingers digging into his damp jersey as he pulls him closer, wanting to be consumed by it. He wants to know what it felt like in that moment, to stand out on the court and hear the crowd erupt into adoring applause, to watch his opponent crumble in defeat, to know that he had seen victory in front of him and secured it with his own hands.

Akaashi feels himself going lightheaded, and Bokuto must feel it too, because he finally pulls away from his lips with a rough, wet sound. He pushes their foreheads together, and there is heat and sweat still lining his brow. It makes Akaashi's knees go weak.

“You saw me,” Bokuto breathes, rough and ragged, not a question but a fact. He sounds feral. Focused. Like he sees victory in front of him and is determined to secure it with his own hands. “Tell me.”

“I did,” Akaashi whispers, already pulling Bokuto back in for more. Against his lips, he murmurs, “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

Bokuto groans low in the back of his throat. It vibrates against Akaashi’s lips, and he has the urge to suck more out of him, to swallow down his noises until he’s filled to the brim with them. But Bokuto pulls his mouth away and trails down lower, nosing at Akaashi’s jaw until he bares his neck to his teeth.

“Tell me,” Bokuto repeats, pinching the skin of Akaashi’s neck between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Like a lion’s maw closing over the neck of its prey.

“You looked amazing,” Akaashi says as he drags his palms down the front of Bokuto’s chest, feeling at the hard muscle underneath. He’s not sure if he wants to rip Bokuto’s jersey off or bury his nose in it. “You were so focused and driven and _ruthless.”_

Using the past tense feels wrong, especially with how Bokuto’s hands are burning brands into his skin, lifting up his shirt as his palms mold against his ribs to feel every fluttering breath. His teeth carve their way down Akaashi’s neck, and his breath is hot against his skin when he growls, “More.”

“There were spikes that I could feel all the way in the stands,” Akaashi says, turning his face into Bokuto’s hair just to smell him. He finally dips his hands below the hem of his jersey, but lingers just under the jut of his stomach, right where the band of his shorts clings to him. The skin there is damp with sweat and warm against Akaashi’s fingers. “And I could tell that people were thinking about how strong you are, but they’ll never know just _how_ strong — not like I know.”

Bokuto groans at that, his hands falling to grope at Akaashi’s thighs just under his ass, like he’s considering demonstrating that very strength by lifting him up. And part of Akaashi wants that too — wants Bokuto to press him against the lockers so tightly that he can hardly breathe, wants to wrap his legs around his hips and feel the muscles in Bokuto’s abdomen working to keep them steady. But all night, he’s been thinking about those wide, sturdy palms on his thighs, holding him still as if his own strength is nothing in comparison. He’s been waiting for all of the indomitable power to bend for him and only him.

“You were in top form tonight. Everyone could see it,” Akaashi says, running his hands back up Bokuto’s chest to grab onto his broad shoulders and _push._ “Everyone could feel how powerful and _good_ you are — but not like the way you’re good for me, right?”

Bokuto has always been stronger than him. Even when Akaashi was an active athlete, when he trained his hardest to put on some more muscle, Bokuto was still the powerhouse of the team. Now, with Akaashi working a desk job and Bokuto continuing forward as a pro-athlete, the difference in physical power has only grown.

Which means that it’s all the more heady when Bokuto, with all his muscle and power and brashness, falls to his knees at the barest hint of pressure against his shoulders. Like even with all that strength, he is helpless against Akaashi. “You’re always so good for me. The _best._ Right, Koutarou?”

With a groan that cracks somewhere in the middle, Bokuto suddenly shoves his face against Akaashi’s jeans, burying his nose where his groin meets his thigh. His ears are bright red and Akaashi can’t help but smile. He runs his hands through his sweaty hair and Bokuto’s fingers tighten around his thighs at the contact. When that still doesn’t encourage him to come out of hiding, Akaashi chuckles. “Too much?”

Bokuto just groans again and nuzzles his nose further into Akaashi’s thigh. His cheek is pressed right up against cock, half-hard and uncomfortably confined in his jeans. Akaashi sucks in a breath as his fingers tremble in Bokuto’s hair. “You’re gonna kill me, Keiji.”

Again, Bokuto shifts his face against his thigh. His jaw is pressing right against his zipper. Akaashi’s voice comes out more like a wheeze. “Not particularly what I’m going for here.”

When Bokuto laughs, his breath comes out warm against Akaashi’s thigh, even through his jeans. Finally, Bokuto peeks out from his hiding place, his cheek red and bunched up like he’s smiling — and Akaashi isn’t sure what his face looks like, but it must be something, because Bokuto’s teasing look immediately turns smoldering.

The room is so quiet that Akaashi can hear the way Bokuto swallows as he finally pulls his face away from his thigh. His mouth is a straight line and his eyes are so piercing, that Akaashi thinks he might have to reconsider his previous sentiment about his power over Bokuto, because even when he’s on his knees, it feels like he’s the one in control. Like his stare alone can pin him helplessly against the lockers.

“Did you see how many service aces I got?” Bokuto’s hands slowly slide from the backs of his thighs towards the front, one thumb teasingly tracing along the zipper of his jeans. “I got even more than Tsum-Tsum and Omi. Did you know that?”

A groan rips its way from Akaashi’s throat as Bokuto eases down his zipper. “I did,” he says, his voice sounding more like a gasp. “I knew after the first one that you’d do well with those tonight, so I kept count.”

“Oh yeah?” Finally, Bokuto grins. He also finally, blessedly, pulls Akaashi’s jeans down to around his thighs. His breath is warm through his briefs when he says, “Tell me.”

Bokuto’s tongue licks around the band of his boxers. Akaashi’s voice trembles as he says, “You scored six no touch service aces.” Bokuto rewards his accuracy by slipping his fingers under the waistband and pulling down just enough to reveal the head of his cock. “Atsumu scored four.” He can feel Bokuto’s satisfied little huff of laughter and it makes his body tense. “Sakusa only scored three.”

Akaashi’s hips jerk the second Bokuto’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock, even though he knew it was coming. He would apologize, but it doesn’t even matter; Bokuto immediately pushes his hips back against the locker, hard enough that Akaashi knows there is no way he will be able to move against him. The demonstration of strength has his breath leaving him in a rush.

“Must be nice, fucking the guy with the most service aces,” Bokuto grins, voice smug enough to irk Akaashi normally, but right now, it just makes something hot and possessive swirl in his gut. He finally pulls his boxers down around his thighs, freeing Akaashi’s cock. Locking eyes with him, Bokuto licks a wet stripe up his palm. “Isn’t it nice?”

 _“Yes,”_ Akaashi moans, because now Bokuto’s hand is on his cock, and the single touch alone sparks the dull ember in his belly to a roaring flame. His brain short circuits for just a moment, but Bokuto must decide that the moment is too long, because his hand stops moving. Waiting. Expectant. _Demanding._ “I love it when you’re putting on a show for everyone and you point me out in the crowd, because I love it when people realize who I am. _What_ I am to you.”

Bokuto rewards him with a tug at his cock, twisting his wrist so that he can swipe his thumb under the head just how he likes. There’s a self-satisfied smirk on his face and his tone is smug as he coos “Oh yeah?” but his eyes are filled with a kind of awe completely free of arrogance. Like even after all these years, he can hardly believe the admission.

“I’ll hear them talking about how I must be the boyfriend. How lucky I am, to have such a successful partner. Such a _beautiful_ partner.” Bokuto makes a sound that can only be described as a whimper before he finally licks a stripe up the underside of Akaashi’s cock. His eager eyes never leave Akaashi’s face. “And I love it because they don’t even know. They have no idea just how lucky I am to have you. Have no idea how beautiful you look between my legs, or on your knees for me.”

“Yes, _yes.”_ Bokuto’s fingers tremble against his cock, against his hip where he’s pining Akaashi to the lockers. He finally wraps his lips around Akaashi’s cock, his tongue swirling maddeningly around the head. His eyes are crystal clear: _tell me more._

“I love it when people look at me in awe because they're in awe of you. Because the guy who caught your eye must be something special. But I love it even _more_ when they look at me and I can _tell_ how much they hate me,” Akaashi says, his voice sounding more and more ragged the deeper Bokuto goes on his cock. “I love it because I can _tell_ that they wish that they were me. They _wish_ that they could have you like this. They _wish_ they could go home with someone like you — wish they could _fuck_ someone like you.”

Bokuto moans around his cock, his nose pressed against his groin. He stays there for a few seconds, engulfing him in all of his heat, before slowly pulling back with tears in the corners of his eyes. He looks so good that Akaashi can’t help but bring a hand down to run through his hair. Not pulling or guiding, but simply petting. “I bet they wish they could do this, too,” he says in a near whisper. Reverent. “I bet they’d give anything to touch you like this, just once — but they can’t. I’m the _only_ one who can. Isn’t that right? Because you’re _mine.”_

The word flips a switch. Bokuto begins bobbing his head eagerly, with no clear rhythm like he doesn’t even have the sense of mind to do that. He pumps one hand around his base, around the parts he can’t reach, and sucks in his cheeks around the parts that he can. His eyes are wide and tearing in the corners and screaming _tell me tell me tell me tell me—_

“I love coming to your games because I like the feeling I get when I see you in your best shape, but you don’t make it easy,” Akaashi huffs. The hand on his hip slides up, pushing his shirt out of the way so Bokuto’s warm palm rests against his fluttering stomach. It's as heavy and weighted as a brand. “Whenever you get in the zone and everyone is screaming your name and cheering for you, _recognizing_ how amazing you are — I just want to go down there and have you right in front of everyone, right there on the court. I want to push you down and ride your dick and make everyone see that yes, you’re just as good as they think, and you're all _mine.”_

Bokuto whimpers and shivers with his entire chest, eyes squinting like he desperately wants to close them, to just _feel_ the full weight of Akaashi’s praise, but also doesn’t want to miss anything. The hand around the base of his cock slips down lower, tickling over his balls. Akaashi leans his head back against the lockers to hide his smirk, because he can feel those fingers travelling even lower, and he knows _exactly_ what Bokuto will find.

“I always just end up getting hard when I watch you play. At least when we were in high school, I was too busy to get fully distracted,” Akaashi continues, mind laser focused on the tongue under his cock and the fingers trailing steadily towards his hole. “But now that I’m not on the court, I just spend the whole time watching you. I just watch you and think about how _good_ you’ll feel inside of me. How _good_ you’ll fuck me, even though you just spent over an hour going at it so hard.”

Akaashi has more to say, but suddenly, Bokuto moans loud enough to reverberate off the lockers, and Akaashi knows he’s found it. He can feel his fingers rubbing over the pink, puffy skin of his stretched rim, and he looks back down to catch the look on his face just as Bokuto pulls off of his cock messily, a line of spit keeping them connected. His lips are cherry red and his cheeks are bright pink and his eyes are so wide, and Akaashi doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone more in his entire life.

“Holy _fuck,_ Keiji,” Bokuto whispers, his voice a gentle croak. It’s gravelly and deep and _worshipful,_ like he found god trapped in Akaashi’s jeans. “When did — _how_ did—”

“Before the game,” Akaashi says, biting back a whine when Bokuto’s fingers circle around his rim. Tapping against the jeweled base of the plug. “Before we left.”

Bokuto stops. He swallows hard enough that Akaashi can hear it. He can see his chest fluttering with halted breaths. Finally, Bokuto says in a low and small voice, “What if I’d lost?”

“I told you before we left, didn’t I?” Akaashi smiles and reaches down, cupping Bokuto’s chin in his hand and running his thumb over his wet bottom lip. “I just knew you were going to do well. I could feel it.”

His breath comes out of him in an instant, like it’s been forced out of him. Then, without another word, Bokuto pulls at Akaashi’s jeans where they are caught around his thighs, simultaneously trying to pull them down and dig through the pockets. It’s so adorably desperate that Akaashi could laugh — but it’s _infectious_ too, and all Akaashi wants is to get everything off, to get Bokuto inside him, to hold him so close that their breaths are one and the same.

For the sake of time, Akaashi bats Bokuto’s eager hands away and buries his hand in his pocket, fishing for the lube. He knocks his knee against Bokuto’s chest, nudging him back until he gets the idea and lays back on the floor. They both wrestle with their clothes for a few frantic seconds, Akaashi nearly tripping out of his shoes in his haste to shuck off his jeans and Bokuto only pushing his shorts down low enough to free his cock. As soon as he has the lube in hand and his jeans pushed to the side, Akaashi nearly collapses on top of Bokuto and straddles his hips.

“Take — take this off—”

“Get me ready—”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I—”

Akaashi shoves Bokuto’s jersey up as high as it will go, bunching it up under his armpits as one hand reaches behind him to trace between his ass cheeks. As per Bokuto’s request, he quickly shucks off his own shirt and throws it to the side along with the rest of his clothes. Bokuto pulls at the plug inside of him and he whimpers, his hips rutting against Bokuto’s stomach without his permission.

“I can’t — I can’t believe that you — _fuck,_ you’re so amazing,” Bokuto breathes as he twists the plug, teasing him before slowly pulling it out. Without it, Akaashi feels wet and empty, sloppy and _filthy,_ and it makes his face flame — but the embarrassment isn’t enough to stop him from grinding against Bokuto’s abdomen or from moaning so loud his voice cracks when two lubed fingers prod at his entrance. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Tell me — tell me how much you like it. C’mon baby, tell me that you want it.”

“I — I want it so _bad,_ god, feels like I’ve been wanting it for _hours_ —” Akaashi’s cut off by a moan when those fingers hit home almost immediately, naturally, like it takes no effort on Bokuto’s part to drive him completely insane. He presses back against his fingers at every thrust, trying to hurry the process along because— “Ever since you woke up this morning, I could just _tell_ that you were in the zone, that you were focused, and I just _knew_ that you would be incredible — _beyond_ incredible, I knew you would be so amazing, so _dazzling,_ and fuck, I couldn’t wait to see it, to see _you._ I couldn’t wait to see you shine and you _did,_ you shined so _bright_ and god, I just — I want—”

He’s not sure if it’s because Bokuto adds a third finger or if he really is just stunned by Bokuto’s light, but either way, his throat dries up and his mouth falls silent. Language abandons him, words fail him, and he just _can’t_ find a way to verbalize the absolute wonder that comes with watching Bokuto at his best. There’s simply no comparison.

So instead, he leans down enough to kiss along Bokuto’s sweaty neck, tasting the salt on his skin and biting down deep like that will somehow communicate everything he can’t say. He rolls his hips as Bokuto pushes in deeper, pinching a line of love bites down his neck, trying to suck the taste of victory and power right from his skin. When he clamps down on a nipple, Bokuto suddenly moans and removes his fingers completely.

“Keiji, Keiji, baby, c’mon,” he huffs, grabbing Akaashi by the hips and _lifting_ like he weighs absolutely nothing, like he could throw him around however he wanted. Akaashi’s knees are weak and pathetic things, uselessly hovering in the air because Bokuto doesn’t even need them to get what he wants from him. “You’ve been saying how much you want it — now show me.”

Despite his attempts to calm his raging heart, Akaashi’s hand shakes as he lubes up Bokuto’s cock. It’s thick and heavy and hot against his palm, and Bokuto’s abdomen flutters with a moan, and he’s so completely breathtaking like this that Akaashi can’t help but rush to get him inside, fumbling and clumsy. And Bokuto, bless him, just holds him up and steady with one hand while the other covers Akaashi’s on his cock, carefully helping to guide himself inside.

It’s always different, like this. Not just when he’s on top, but when Bokuto is still freshly victorious, still thrumming with adrenaline, caught between exhaustion and euphoria. Bokuto’s entire body pulls taut like a wire, his back arching just slightly and his thighs tensing as he tries to keep still. He’s blushing all the way down to his heaving chest and the veins on his arms bulge prominently as he uses all his remaining strength to keep Akaashi steady, his jaw clenched as sweat drips down his neck. Even though he just gave it his all on the court a few hours ago, Akaashi doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this alive, this present, this driven. Like Bokuto yearns to be the best and the strongest for his team and for his fans, but most of all, for _Akaashi._

When Bokuto is buried to the hilt, Akaashi pauses to catch his breath. He places one stabilizing hand on Bokuto’s chest and feels his rapidly beating heart. His fingers are tight around his waist, hard enough to leave bruises. Akaashi hopes they do.

“You — you’re _radiant,”_ Akaashi gasps, closing his eyes like that will help him feel the stretch more clearly. He's so overwhelmingly full and heavy astride Bokuto’s hips, but it's also like he weighs nothing at all. Under him, Bokuto whines. “I’ve told you — you know that when I first saw you, I thought you were a star, but god. You just keep burning brighter and brighter. I can hardly look at you sometimes.”

The moan Bokuto releases is long and loud. His hips snap up, sudden and rough like he hadn’t meant to do it. But when Akaashi just gasps, he plants his heels against the tile and does it again, more purposeful and direct. Searching. Taking. Grabbing what he has earned, what he _deserves,_ and claiming it as his own. 

And though it would be simple enough to let Bokuto do all the work (and he could — he could manhandle Akaashi however he wants, move him up and down on his cock like a doll, could make him bounce with the strength of his thrusts alone), that’s not what Akaashi wants right now. He wants to be a _part_ of that victory, to bask in the warmth of triumph as if they were still in high school, where every point Bokuto scored was in part because of Akaashi.

Maybe he can’t grasp that success out on the court anymore, but here? In the locker room when everyone else has gone, with Bokuto lying under him and looking at him like _he’s_ the one who is shining? Akaashi has won everything. His entire goddamn cup runneth over.

So he chases after it. His thighs might not be as thick and powerful as Bokuto’s, but they’re strong enough to lift himself, to push back against his every thrust. His hands might not be as wide and calloused, but they are searing enough to dig trenches in Bokuto’s skin, nails grating against his chest. And maybe he can’t crush an opponent with one look, one spike, one jump — but that doesn’t mean he can’t bring _this_ man to his knees.

“But I also don’t — I never want to _stop_ looking at you,” Akaashi continues, his voice a trembling, quaking thing. “I want to see how far you’ll go, how high you’ll climb. Every time I think you’ve reached the top, you find another flight of stairs. You find new ways to glow brighter.”

Akaashi can tell that the praise is starting to get to him. Bokuto’s eyes are clenched tightly shut, his teeth grinding against each other as his thrusts pick up in power and speed and drop in their rhythm. He thinks he can see _tears_ in his eyes, slowly sliding down his temples and into his sweat drenched hair. “Keiji,” Bokuto whimpers through his teeth, face crumpled up like he’s in pain. “Fuck, Keiji, more, more, tell me more—”

It’s getting harder to speak, his lungs gasping on hot air and his throat strangled with moans as Bokuto hits that spot over and over, a shock of white shooting up his spine every time, but still, he says, “It’s why you have all of those people cheering you on — because you shine so bright that it’s impossible not to see you, impossible not to _like_ you. Everyone just wants to stand in your light.”

Bokuto’s getting close. Akaashi can sense it in how hard he’s gripping his hips, like he’s forgotten to be gentle. He wants to tug at his own neglected cock, but with the force of Bokuto’s thrusts, he’s afraid he’ll completely lose balance if he does. So he just grits his teeth and leans down lower, caging Bokuto’s head between his arms so he can speak directly into his ear.

“They might be able to stand in your light, but they can’t ever touch it, can they? No, that’s just for me to enjoy.” Akaashi’s voice comes out high and breathy, almost pathetic, but Bokuto’s ragged breaths and reedy moans only encourage him. “Because they might know all your stats and buy all your merch and go to all your games and scream your name so loud they lose their voice, but it doesn’t even _compare_ to my devotion. Even with all their adoration, it couldn’t possibly measure up to the breadth and depth of my love for you.”

It’s the nail in the coffin. Bokuto bites down on Akaashi’s shoulder to stifle his moan as he pulls him down and comes, hips stuttering and jerking frantically. Akaashi just holds him through the aftershocks, enclosing all that shivering strength and trembling muscle in his arms like a small bird in the palm of his hand.

After a few still moments, Bokuto resurfaces. He releases Akaashi’s shoulder from between his teeth and laves at the mark he left behind, sweetly apologetic. Akaashi just moans softly, burying his face in Bokuto’s shoulder and rutting his hips forward against his stomach. A gentle reminder.

Bokuto chuckles, warm and low, and it makes Akaashi shiver. Bokuto runs a gentle palm down his sweaty back before wrapping him up in his arms and rolling them over. The tile feels too cold against his overheated skin, and Akaashi arches up into Bokuto’s chest, shifting the cock still inside him. It makes something deep in his gut ache.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Bokuto murmurs, slowly pulling out. Once again, Akaashi feels far too wet and open, and even though he just let Bokuto fuck him in a dirty locker room while he sang sweet words in his ear, this feels like the filthiest thing he’s done. “I’m right here.”

Using his own release to ease the way, Bokuto shoves three fingers back inside, not even bothering to start off slow or rile him up. Instinctively, Akaashi’s arms wrap around Bokuto’s neck, hanging off of him like he’s the only thing keeping him from sinking. Bokuto must see the desperation in his face, because he immediately uses his free hand to tug at Akaashi’s neglected cock and peppers his neck in kisses.

“You said that all those people out there could scream my name all they want, but it’d never compare to you, right?” He can feel the curve of Bokuto’s smirk against his skin. “Well, then. Prove it.”

Akaashi has never been able to deny him. He tips his head back and moans his name, over and over like a man at worship. His thighs tremble and clench as he pushes back against Bokuto’s hand, frantically fucking himself back on his fingers in chase of his own release.

“More,” Bokuto growls, twisting his fingers and pushing in so deep that it almost _hurts,_ almost _burns,_ but it's so good that Akaashi’s eyes roll back in his head and his toes curl. “Louder.”

The next call of his name is loud and whiny and embarrassing, and it’s only amplified by the echo of the locker room. He hears his own reedy voice, pathetically crying out Bokuto’s name, reverberating back at him a thousand times over. 

But Bokuto, the tyrant, still isn’t satisfied. Akaashi feels his pinky slip alongside the other three fingers inside him, spreading him wide as he spills his demands into his skin: _“More.”_

Akaashi screams. He screams his name loud enough to hurt his own ears, to block out the sound of Bokuto’s fingers squelching inside him, to probably bring the whole _building_ down. If people didn’t know what they were up to when they snuck off earlier, they certainly know now, because the force of his name leaving his lips feels cosmic. It pulls his own orgasm right out of him, his fingernails digging into Bokuto’s arms hard enough to pierce skin as he arches and comes.

“Fuck, Keiji — yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby. I got you, you did so well, so good for me,” Bokuto whispers, continuing to stroke his cock through his orgasm. The fingers inside him slow to a stand still, filling him only just barely. “You’re so gorgeous, so perfect, so _insanely_ perfect—”

Bokuto spends the next few moments talking him down, whispering his praises between gentle kisses against his neck. When Akaashi’s back finally lowers back to the floor, he slowly pulls his fingers out with one last caress against his hole. Even though he must be exhausted, Bokuto hovers over Akaashi, bracing his arms on either side of his head to keep himself upright. 

_How considerate,_ Akaashi thinks to himself fondly. _But not what I need right now._

“Kou,” he whines, his voice pathetically quiet after all his screaming. He opens his arms and Bokuto catches on immediately, collapsing into Akaashi’s chest with a wide grin now that he has permission.

“Ah, Akaashi! You were so good!” Bokuto coos, nuzzling his face against Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi hides his smile in Bokuto’s neck. “God, you’re so sexy. You looked so hot when you were riding me. It made you look really strong.”

Akaashi can’t help but huff out a laugh at that. He pulls away just enough to see the complete sincerity on Bokuto’s face. “Yeah?”

“Totally! It made your arms and legs look really buff,” Bokuto says. If they weren’t currently cuddling naked with Bokuto’s come leaking out of him, Akaashi might call him boyish. “We should do that more often. You on top, I mean. Oooh, or maybe next time, you can fuck me? And I can wear the butt plug too!”

Akaashi laughs. “You probably shouldn’t wear one of those while you play, Koutarou.”

Bokuto waves him off. “Nah, I bet it’ll be fine. It might add an extra element of challenge!”

There’s another laugh bubbling in his chest, but Akaashi knows better than to enable him. If he goes along with it much longer, Bokuto really might wear a butt plug to his next game. “Please don’t. Maybe we can find something else for you to wear for your next game.”

Bokuto laughs, loud and happy. “I think I’d look killer in some fancy panties. Don’t you think so?”

Akaashi’s traitorous face burns red. Bokuto just laughs even more.

Later, after they’ve basked in the afterglow and decided to get out of there before they get caught, as they’re gathering their things, Bokuto sits on a bench to tie up his shoes and ask, “Hey, hey, Akaashi — all that stuff you said, it wasn’t just sex talk, right? You meant it all, right? You really thought I did good tonight?”

Once again, Akaashi's face burns. It’s easy to wash Bokuto in praise when they’re in the heat of the moment. The words come out naturally, and seeing Bokuto’s wide eyes and red cheeks only draws more out of him. But now, with the lube and sweat wiped from their skin and their bodies covered, it feels embarrassing, admitting just how much he loves and admires him. Too open and vulnerable.

“Cause I feel the same way, you know. About you,” Bokuto says as he laces up his shoes, ears suspiciously red and eyes downcast. “I mean, obviously not about the game and stuff but — the other stuff. Like, I can’t stop looking at you either. And I don’t think anyone could possibly love you more than I do.”

It’s like he’s a teenager all over again, walking into that gym for the first time and seeing Bokuto leap through the air. Butterflies in his stomach, heart in his throat, and adrenaline in his veins. _A star,_ he’d thought. _I can’t wait to see him get better and better with time._

Akaashi smiles. He leans down to press a kiss against the top of Bokuto’s head. When Bokuto looks up at him, he finds that their faces are equally pink. 

“I meant every word.”

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! also, come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/afancyghost) and [tumblr](https://afancyghost.tumblr.com/)!


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